Poems of the heart
by Chariott
Summary: Why is love so dangerous? Why is it so radioactive? She called it zone 51, a zone that if you enter, you become infected. Carissa Blythe made the mistake to step on this field once she set foot in Sweet Amoris, then her road became poetic. So stepping off the zone and into a fantasy, how will she make the difference between fictional and non-fictional when a boy becomes her prince?


**Chapter 1**

A few years back I thought that I stumbled upon a golden mine, that every precious jewel found inside would've given me a shiny life. Shiny and prosperous. But after further calculations, it turned out those jewels pretty much had the same price as coal. And the end result was just as dark.

I considered those people to be my dearest treasure. They had so much influence in my growth process, they offered me so much that I, I still find it unbelievable that they're gone. I still find it impossible how they could just disappear and leave me to cope with the world alone.

Life never asks you if you're ready for something, you know. So, when you think you're at the peak of how happy one can be, everything just gets a 360 degrees turnaround and you find yourself helpless and naked in front of a big, hostile and unknown world. I know _I_ did…

And I felt lost, and sad and angry at myself that I couldn't do as much as try to put everything in order. I broke hundreds of vases, jugs and pitchers, flipped over countless tables and raged at the top of my lungs, but I never cried about my life. I never complained because I felt I wasn't allowed to. Because…it didn't seem like something my parents would do. It didn't seem something that I'd do.

So I just waited. Sounds like a real coward, this person that didn't do anything. Truly despicable, remarkably stupid, right? I thought that too, until I found another mine. At first it was impossible to catch a glimpse of fortune, but the moment I started digging, I discovered how much gold it had to offer.

Finally, I felt again what it's like to have a family.

When I turned 11, I was adopted by a couple that couldn't have children. Many years back they were part of the American army, but once they realized war was something too dire for them, something that would be an impediment for building a family, they retired. They tried to have a baby and couldn't, they walked to every clinic there was, but to no avail. And then they found me: lost, sad and angry at herself but happy in a strange measure, Carissa.

I was truly happy. Reluctant at first, true, but then I admitted my life couldn't have been better otherwise. I liked those people. We were supposed to move to France, in a large community, but something happened that forced us to stop. No one knows how, but after a "Goodbye" dinner party with friends my adoptive mother Mary just collapsed in pitiful despair, trashed around into wild seizures, then just…slipped away.

Once again my jewels turned to coal, then dust and vanished.

Louis, my adoptive father was clearly devastated, although his love for me stopped him from trying to give up. After that horrifying incident, he dedicated himself to raising me just like any whole family would. He tried to be both my father and my mother. His bravery was amazing. But just because we had a smaller income and we were both shaken, that didn't stop us from pursuing our original plan: moving to the department city Caen, in north-western France.

Turns out, with dad's income only we wouldn't have been able to afford an apartment in the actual city, so we searched around for a smaller suburban area somewhere close to it and settled down in a small coastal town that's not even on the map, which instead is shown as a tiny patch of lush green forests. It _is_ that small. Luckily for me it did have educational ways, so we didn't have to worry about finding a high school to transfer to. It was the only one in town anyway…

* * *

"Sweet…Amoris?" I asked disbelievingly after reading the enrollment papers that dad shoved in my face. "This is such a ridiculous name." a husky laugh right from the core erupted from me, which, unfortunately, made Louis shoot me a small glare.

"Carissa," he started, and I swallowed my laugh. "I have told you before that laughing about things like those is immature. Now, what did I say about being immature these days?" looking somewhere to the side, it seemed I had a hard time trying to remember his words. His face didn't help either. Man, his wrinkles sing history whenever he narrows those almond shaped eyes and it can make you feel like you shouted 'pink underpants are the best' in a library. Then the librarian heard you and the world ended because you weren't quiet in the library.

"Eeh…"

"No 'eeh' now, see, it's specifically because you allocated more time to unimportant things such as music or watching the grass grow rather than reading a good book to-"

"-significantly enlarge your intellectual abilities for securing a better place in the world that you have no answer ready whenever I plant you a question, yeah, yeah, I know. Heard you the first one hundred and sixty five times." His rant was swiftly continued by me in the same 'matter-of-factly' way he always says it. Yet, something was different this time. This time, instead of shutting me off, he smiled.

"Good. Good…you seem to be ready." Taking his coffee along he disappeared inside his office while a confused Carissa stared, for a good period of time, at the red wood door he passed through. Shaking my head, I spared another glance at the enrollment papers and slammed them on the dining table.

"Are you sure you were in the army?" I waited for a few more seconds. No response. "The name still sucks tho!" I called out, filling the messy kitchen overloaded with still unpacked boxes with my voice. I waited for a reaction from Louis, but he must've been already absorbed into his finance list that he didn't call back or anything. Picking up mindlessly the papers and laying them down again, I went up to my room three stairs at a time, deciding to check my email.

And there it was: a short, but heartfelt message from a person whom I hold dear.

 _ **Riss,**_

 _ **I remember you mentioning once that you're moving to France. I believe it was around this time, when leaves fall and birds flee. I'm glad we're finally closer to one another, being so far away truly made me sad. What town was it again? Strange, I can't seem to remember…**_

Making a pause, I smiled sheepishly at his ability to forget. ' _As if that's a strange thing…'_ Keeping the smile on my face, I continued to actively read his few last words.

 _ **Anyhow, when you begin to settle in, message me back. I'd travel seas to help you unpack**_ _ **I hope you're doing well. Oh, and Riss? Do tell what high school you enrolled in, I want to visit.**_

 _ **\- L**_

Getting up from the chair at my desk and letting myself fall on the bed, a wide grin spread on my lips and my heart hammered loudly against my ribcage in excitement. After years of talking through mail services and skype, I'm one step closer to seeing him again! One step closer to drowning in those mystical eyes again, as I did over and over, nights in a row, for such a long time.

It's a strange kind of drowning, though. It's that type of drowning you experience with someone you can say with all your being that they are your best friend, the only person you would actually completely confide in and don't feel any sort of regret afterwards. The kind of drowning that is nowhere near romantic, but closest to brotherhood. The kind of drowning that can absorb your problems completely, and make you feel like simply living, simply breathing in this oxygen that rusts our insides isn't the end of anything.

Life as it is will always count for something, since everything we do is etched in time.

My life wouldn't receive a new meaning, searching for one is pretty pointless, but it certainly would be brighter with him around to tell me sappy stories and read long, beautiful and mesmerizing poems he wrote high on pot.

I'm coming, Sweet Amoris. You better be ready. 'Cause I'm sure as hell that I am.


End file.
